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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534894">Dream a Little Dream of Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412'>Llama1412</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bathing/Washing, Enemies to Lovers, Existential Crisis, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Wet Dream, ear sucking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:54:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It totally doesn’t mean anything that Roche dreams of Iorveth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iorveth/Vernon Roche</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dream a Little Dream of Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I blame <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutes_and_dandelions">lutes_and_dandelions</a> for getting me into this pairing and now it's all I think about? I have half a dozen WiPs already and I just started shipping this like last week???<br/>Set ambiguously sometime before W2.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The dream started normally, as many of Vernon Roche’s dreams did. He was in the forest, hunting down Scoia’tael. He was facing off with Iorveth, each of them matching each other blow for blow. Tackling Iorveth had seemed logical, a way to break the stalemate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He certainly hadn’t expected that instead of landing on the ground, they were falling through tangled vines and landing in a large stone pool, surrounded by Roses of Remembrance and odd elven sculptures. Roche scoffed. Of course they’d fallen into some elven sanctuary, though fortunately it was empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oddly, he found himself immediately dry when he climbed out of the pool, Iorveth sputtering behind him. There was a part of his mind whispering that he should have pushed Iorveth under, should have drowned the Scoia’tael commander.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But such a pathetic death was hardly worthy of Roche’s greatest rival, the one enemy that had eluded him time and time again. The one enemy who had his own strange code of honor and Roche knew that if their positions were reversed, the elf wouldn’t drown him. Stick him with an arrow, sure. But drowning? That was hardly an end worthy of their tale.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feeling oddly soft, Roche turned and offered a hand to help Iorveth out of the pool. Unlike Roche, his clothing did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> dry upon leaving the pool, so somehow, in that way dreams worked, it seemed only sensible to remove their clothing. Couldn’t have pneumonia ending their tale either, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche wasn’t sure how Iorveth slapping his hands away when he tried to assist with removing the elf’s armor had let to him here, sitting on a stone bench with a naked Iorveth in his lap. Not just </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span> his lap. Braced above him, slowly lowering himself onto Roche’s cock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In his sleep, Roche’s brow furrowed, but in the dream he did not question it, just sighed gratefully as unbelievable heat surrounded him until Iorveth was sitting fully in his lap, his knees braced on either side of Roche’s hips. It seemed only natural to grasp Iorveth’s hips, to help him slowly rise up and then sink back down, sending shivers down Roche’s spine. He was embarrassed to be making the noises he did, but it was nothing compared to Iorveth. The elf wore only that stupid bandana and a smirk, rolling his hips and staring Roche down, not even trying to stop the small sounds that fell from his mouth and made Roche’s blood run hot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche shuddered when Iorveth braced his hands against Roche’s shoulders and started moving faster, fast enough that Roche felt like he was spinning out of control. As if he’d ever been in control at all. With Iorveth, Roche never seemed to have the control he should. Whether it was aiming to take the kill shot or letting others vie for Iorveth’s head, somehow the elf had always managed to stay Roche’s hand, to make him argue that Iorveth was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>to kill and no other’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right now, Iorveth certainly did seem to be his and no other’s, the elf’s cock rutting against Roche’s stomach with every movement. “Come on, Vernon,” Iorveth taunted. “Is that the best you can do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It kind of was, though. Roche’s mind felt like it was spiraling away from him, thoughts adrift in rushes of pleasure that shouldn’t be so good, and yet they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wanted to hate that it was Iorveth doing this to him, playing him like a well-tuned fiddle and just plucking at his strings, but it was hard to focus on hate when every rock of Iorveth’s hips had him gasping and clutching at Iorveth’s back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth laughed, a crackling sound that Roche found himself strangely liking. It wasn’t an attractive sound, exactly – too harsh, too rasping, a discordant noise that grated at human ears – and yet, it suited Iorveth. Roche would have found any other sound wrong for the elven commander, and that realization made him uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was no time to dwell on that, because Iorveth was leaning forward and murmuring in his ear. “The great Blue Stripes commander, underneath me without a struggle. Who would have thought?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want to see a struggle?” Roche growled, ignoring the way his voice broke halfway through. Iorveth’s hips were grinding in little circles that kept stealing his breath, his sense, his everything. But Roche had always met Iorveth blow for blow, and this time would be no different. He clawed down Iorveth’s back, thrusting his hips up with as much force as he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time it was Iorveth who gasped, hands moving from Roche’s shoulders to the back of his neck, stroking over Roche’s closely shaved hair in a way that sent shudders down his spine. It was only fair to pull Iorveth’s head down to his and suck on those pointed ears that he’d long wondered how sensitive they were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Very, it would seem, because Iorveth squirmed in his lap, a savage moan escaping past gritted teeth. Roche decided he liked the sound and wanted more of it, so he nibbled lightly at the edge of the ear in his mouth. Iorveth gasped, a hoarse, weak thing, and suddenly he was coming over Roche’s stomach and his own. But he didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop circling his hips and when he squeezed around Roche, Roche couldn’t help throwing his head back and scrabbling at Iorveth’s back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he heard himself beg, and despite the irritation at yet another loss of control, Roche couldn’t regret asking. He was so close, so very close and this elf, the man he had been chasing for so long, controlled his pleasure, controlled whether or not he could tip over the edge and something about that was intoxicating. “Iorveth, Iorveth, Iorveth,” he chanted, fingernails leaving red lines down Iorveth’s back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Iorveth murmured, “you’re going to cum with nothing by my name on your lips and in your thoughts.” Roche gasped, hips jerking. “And you’re going to like it. You’re going to like that you can fall apart in my hands, hands that could kill you in an instant, but instead bring you pleasure.” One of those hands stroked down his neck, thumb catching on an old scar. Iorveth tilted his head until Roche’s vision was totally consumed by Iorveth’s sparkling green eye, the color almost consumed by his dilated pupil. Roche had never noticed how beautiful Iorveth was before. The thought caught in his mind uncomfortably. He would never forget now, never be able to look at Iorveth again without thinking of this moment, of the heat in Iorveth’s eyes when his lips shaped his next command. “Come for me, Vernon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he did, digging his nails into Iorveth’s shoulders and rutting his hips up into the elf, his mind spinning in pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Roche opened his eyes, instead of Iorveth’s face, all he could see were the slats of the occupied bunk above him. He shifted and wrinkled his nose at the cooling mess in his underwear. Fuck. He’d had a wet dream while surrounded by his squadron in their temporary barracks in Vizima. Surely no one could know what had happened. Unless he’d made noise. Roche swallowed around the knot in his throat. In the dream, he’d said Iorveth’s name. Surely – surely he hadn’t spoken it </span>
  <em>
    <span>aloud.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lay frozen in silence for long moments, but the only sounds he could hear were the normal sleepy shuffling and snoring and rumbling from his team. Sounds so familiar he slept better with them in the background than in silence. That was why he’d always elected to stay with his men when their unit traveled to cities. He could have thrown his weight around, could have demanded an officer’s room – his rank more than qualified him, even if he weren’t one of the King’s close friends. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time, he regretted that he hadn’t done just that. If he were in a private room, this would be so much less humiliating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Still pretty bad, though. Uneasiness wriggled in his stomach and his muscles were tense, prepared for a fight. There wouldn’t be one – if anyone </span><em><span>was</span></em><span> awake and had heard him, they at least had the sense to pretend otherwise. But that was the problem. The possibility that one of them – gods, maybe even </span><em><span>Ves, </span></em><span>who he’d practically mentored into adulthood</span> <span>– had heard him and thought that he – that he– </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That he what? It wasn’t as if he was actually interested in Iorveth. Surely everyone knew that their only feelings for each other were mutual hatred. Hell, Roche had come very close to killing Iorveth many times over. He couldn’t control who appeared in his dreams, but surely it meant nothing. Sometimes you just...dreamed about the people that you wanted to kill.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except Roche had had the opportunity to kill Iorveth. There were a handful of times where those close calls hadn’t actually been as close as Roche had claimed in his retreat. There had always been </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> that stayed his hand every time he could have ended Iorveth’s life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche licked him lips and then bit them hard, until the pain brought his mind fully awake. He needed to clean himself up before anyone could see. Which meant he needed to sneak out to the baths, every step a sound that could possibly wake his men and reveal his shame. Fortunately, he escaped outside without incident, though his heart was racing as if an ambush was imminent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And maybe it was, because he was three paces from the washhouse, squinting in the dark, when someone came up behind him and clasped his shoulder. Roche bit back the sound that rose in his throat, but he couldn’t help jumping under the man’s hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to startle you, Commander,” the man said, and the candle he was carrying lit up the face of Silas, one of the younger men in Roche’s unit. “Saw someone creeping about without a light and had to make sure.” Roche stood there with Silas’s hand on his shoulder, in nothing but his robe, his soiled underwear, and his boots, with a towel held close in front of his hips. His face felt hot and flushed, and the mess in his pants was cold and wet and attempting to slide down his leg. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche prayed to gods he wasn’t even sure he believed in anymore that Silas wouldn’t try to face him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nightmare keeping you up, sir? We all get them, nothing to be ashamed of.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, nightmare,” Roche choked out. And it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was, </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t it? A sex dream about your enemy surely counted as a nightmare scenario. The kind of nightmare scenario where you came in your sleep, that was all. “Thought a bath would do me well,” he gestured towards the washhouse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, sir,” Silas grinned and clapped his shoulder again. “Enjoy your bath!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, he continued on his patrol, and Roche didn’t dare move until his candle disappeared from sight. Only then did he run for the washhouse door, throwing himself inside and bolting for one of the few private rooms available.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he was finally completely alone and secure, Roche wiggled out of the soiled clothes and used the drier parts of his underwear to clean himself off. Only once he had thrown the evidence of his shame to the far corner of the room did his shoulders start to relax. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, a bath was a good idea. He wouldn’t be able to sleep after that nightmare, but relaxing in warm water would do his body good anyway. Which just meant he had to draw a bath and heat it up. He got to work with a groan, promising himself that it would all be worth it once he sank into the warm water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it was. Even he would say that the sound he made was obscene as he submerged himself to his shoulders in the stone tub. Maybe he should get transferred to Vizima permanently, if they got to relax in digs like this all the time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he would hate being bound to a specific city within a week, itching to go hunt Scoia’tael in the woods. Ves would be an excellent commander in his place, of course – she was nearly ready for a command of her own anyway, if the King might allow it – but fighting the Scoia’tael was his favorite aspect of commanding a special forces unit. Not that the King’s other assignments weren’t enjoyable; Roche never forgot that he bore the lucky privilege of being one whom his king trusted. Without King Foltest, Roche would be nothing. To have been given command of the Blue Stripes was an honor far beyond anything someone of his birth could even dream of. The other commanders never failed to remind him that even though he held King Foltest’s favor, Roche was nothing but the fatherless child of a whore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Getting sent out into the field with a small elite team had actually been a relief. The mutinous attitudes he’d gotten used to weren’t a problem with the Blue Stripes. They were the team specifically appointed to hunt down the Scoia’tael. In their first fight under Roche’s command, the elves were unequivocally defeated and Roche had proved himself to his men. They didn’t care who his father might be, they only cared that his orders kept them alive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was amazing how much more Roche liked people when they didn’t insult him constantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the irritating thing about Iorveth. The man didn’t even know Roche’s history, but he still managed to fling cutting insults Roche’s way every encounter. And he’d never even resorted to “whoreson”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche was glad for that. That was one thing he knew he could never forgive, not thrown at him with awareness of what it meant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sunk lower in the bath, examining that thought. That made it sound like he thought he could forgive Iorveth. Which he couldn’t, of course. He had been ordered by King Foltest to hunt down the Scoia’tael, but it was more than just a command for Roche. The Scoia’tael had terrorized the people of Temeria for years, threatening merchants and killing travelers to try to force Foltest’s hand. Roche absolutely supported his King’s order to eliminate the nonhumans that opposed his rule. Was it cruel? Sometimes, yes. But that was war. War had casualties. That could not stop Roche from fulfilling his duties.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes he wished Iorveth would understand that. King Foltest was never going to cede his land for a free elven state. It was never going to happen. Why didn’t the nonhumans just go somewhere else?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, if Iorveth went somewhere else, Roche would never have to see him again. He would never have the pleasure of killing him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because that’s what he wanted, right? Iorveth was his enemy, someone who led his men to behave like common bandits. Of course Roche wanted to kill him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s why the dream was a nightmare. What else could you call a dream in which your enemy mounted your cock and rode you until you couldn’t think?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche groaned and sunk underneath the water, scrubbing at his face. What was it about Iorveth that got to him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He braced his feet against the ground and pushed himself back up, gasping as soon as his head breached the surface. It was a stupid question, really. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> what it was about Iorveth that had caught his eye. It wasn’t his tactics, his command, or even his list of offenses. In actual fact, it was because Iorveth called him Vernon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only other person to call him Vernon was his mother. That was the only reason he had kept it when he chose his own name. He had wanted to redefine himself, not the fatherless whoreson, but the man King Foltest personally rescued from the gutters of society. The change in his life was stark, and he’d wanted a name that fit his new life. But he didn’t want to forget his mother entirely, didn’t want to forget the parts about where he came from that made him strong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chose the name Roche. Everyone called him Roche. But when he introduced himself, it was as Vernon Roche, and the memory of his mother lived on and no longer tied him down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which did not make it okay that he’d come the moment Iorveth had called his name in his dream. That was – surely that didn’t mean anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not like you could control what happened in your dreams. It was just a fluke, a consequence of the fact that his work required him to spend a lot of time around Iorveth and he hadn’t had a chance for any liaisons of the personal variety in quite some time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now that his unit was stationed in Vizima, maybe he should stop by a brothel and get that taken care of. Somewhere that offered men, so he could prove to himself that his orgasm had nothing to do with Iorveth and everything to do with a dry spell. That was all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In fact, maybe he should prove that right now. He was in a private room, and he had time. He probably couldn’t come again – he wasn’t a young man anymore – but simple pleasure was always nice, and the point of this wasn’t to orgasm, it was to prove that Iorveth invading his dreams was nothing but a coincidence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche started slow, grazing his fingers slowly down his chest and over his thighs, leaving little shivery paths in their wake. He rolled his shoulders, deliberately relaxing them. His earlier humiliation had left him tense and on edge, and while the bath was helping, enjoying himself for a while would be the perfect way to wind himself down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cock slowly plumped until the tip just barely breached the water, sending rushes of cool air across sensitive skin with every move. He sighed, letting his head lull back and his eyes close. There was no rush here, no stress or fear or worry, just heat and pleasure and imagination.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His imagination consisted mostly of abstract ideas, flashes of skin pressing against skin, hints of moans and whimpers, but nothing specific. Except he was thinking about feeling good and the last time he’d felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> good had been just before he’d woken up. It was normal to add snippets from his dream to his imagination, picturing a nameless man – specifically, a man who was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>Iorveth – riding his cock in slow, teasing rolls. He stroked in time with the man in his mind, but Roche wanted more. He licked his lips and pictured the man leaning down to kiss him, stroking his cheeks with bow-callused hands. Then he thought about kissing along a defined jaw until he could suck at his partner’s earlobe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next part happened so naturally, he wasn’t even sure when the change occurred. He sucked and nipped up the curve of an ear, only to find that the ear didn’t curve at all. And he had always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> wondered how sensitive elves’ ears might be. His own ears weren’t terribly sensitive, but there was a spot on his neck that drove him wild, and he dragged fingers up to brush slowly over it teasingly. He’d always thought maybe elven ears were like that, where you could nip and suck and lick at them until they were absolutely on edge and wild.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could have found out, of course. Many brothels had elven workers. But Roche would never be able to forgive himself for giving into curiosity. He was Vernon Roche, Commander of the Blue Stripes. All nonhuman affairs fell under his jurisdiction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How could any elf, even a whore, feel safe enough to say no to him when he held that power over them?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But in his imagination, that didn’t matter. In his imagination, his partner was an equal, someone who could say no to him, who probably delighted in saying no to him just to rile him up. Someone who would rub a hand over Roche’s hair, pushing the bristles around in a way that he had always liked. Someone who pinched a nipple between their fingers, rolling across the top of it with his thumb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone who breathed into his ear with a brash, gravely voice, “come for me, Vernon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche arched with a harsh gasp, pleasure shooting through his body, twitching his limbs. After a tense moment, he relaxed into the water, boneless and satiated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except his experiment had been a complete and utter failure and he had definitely come on Iorveth’s order again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groaned and let his shoulders slip underwater until he was breathing bubbles in the water. He was absolutely fucked, wasn’t he?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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